Children of the Night
by SummerLove16
Summary: A strange twist in a case leads Sam and Dean back to their hometown in Kansas.  There, they discover a secret that leads them to question everything they have ever know, including their relationship. Slash, not Wincest.
1. Chapter 1

The case had started off simply enough. Sixteen children had vanished into the dark, Minnesota night, leaving no trace of their existence in the town. Their smiling faces erased from photographs, their school records disappearing. Almost as if they had never existed, except for the grieving parents they left behind. The anguish of the parents was almost more than Dean could bear. Sam slouched, half asleep in the front seat, exhausted, and somehow without any viable leads. Dean took another swig from the flask, savouring the familiar burn that traced down his throat and into his veins.

The one and only hotel was booked full, the old man had said. Dean inwardly rolled his eyes—they were sleeping in the deserted parking lot, and he hadn't seen any activity all night.

"You think that somebody wants us outta here?"

He asked softly, turning to look at Sam. Sam muttered something incoherently, turning in his sleep towards the window. Dean watched him, careful to register any changes in his breathing. Sam's nightmares were the reason Dean often didn't sleep. Instead, he sat awake, sipping whisky and watching his sleeping brother. Keeping him safe, like he should have been able to when he...died.

Every time he thought about that night, the dark, the cold, the other boy, his face vicious as he stabbed Sam in the back, severing his spine...Sam's solid body melting against him as he slipped away, his eyes fluttering shut as his body shut down...Dean felt waves of guilt pass through him. Damn it, Sammy, why'd you hafta try and save everyone? He wondered, looking at his little brother's sleeping form. I should have been the one to save you.

With a sigh, Dean leaned over and shifted Sam's laptop out of his lap, and began flipping through the pages his brother had open. Nothing. No supernatural occurrence or creature that could explain the missing children. Flipping to the last page, he pulled up an adoption agency's homepage. He paused, fingers floating over the keyboard. Were these children adopted? Had something happened to them before they were adopted? Was that the key, the connection binding them all together?

Dean turned to look at Sam, suddenly registering the hitch in his breathing. Sam muttered incomprehensibly, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Damn it, Sammy...wake up..."

His voice shook as Dean leaned across the seat, brushing the tears off Sam's cheek with rough, clumsy fingers while shaking him gently.

"Not your fault, Dean...don't want to lose you...please don't go..."

Dean's breath caught. Shit, Sammy, how much do you know? He wondered. Do you know about the deal? Dean shook him harder, determined to wake him from his heartbreaking dream.

"Sammy...wake up, baby brother...please."

Sam came to with a sudden, sharp intake of breath, gripping Dean's cotton tee-shirt in his fist, pulling it tight across his chest, and soaking it with inadvertent tears. Dean could feel his heart breaking at his brother's touch.

"Dean?"

"Yeah. I'm here, Sammy. I gotcha."

Dean's voice broke as his brother shook the last shadows of nightmare from his sleep. Sam shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

Sam knew how hard his nightmares weighed on Dean. He could see it in the dark circles under his eyes, the whiskey on his breath in the morning. Dean shrugged.

"Same dream?"

The same dream Sam never talked about, the dream Dean never admitted to hearing fragments of. Sam nodded, slowly loosening his grip on Dean's tee-shirt. This would be another night, another nightmare that they would never speak of again, the fractured whispers Dean heard in the night a part of some distant past already.

Neither Sam nor Dean found sleep that night. Instead, they passed Dean's flask back and forth between them, both desperately pretending that the night did not exist.

At last, Sam slammed his computer shut in the pink light of the early morning.

"I think I got it."

He looked at Dean triumphantly. Dean raised an eyebrow, taking one last sip from the flask.

"Yeah?"

"Adoption. Every kid was adopted. That's the link."

Dean's eyes brightened.

"So no scary-ass creature?"

Sam shrugged,

"Not yet. Maybe some kind of Wiccan ritual? Maybe a demigod?"

Dean nodded, starting the car. Maybe something that could be discussed over breakfast.

"So they were all adopted from the same agency?"  
Dean watched Sam over his bacon and eggs, sipping his coffee, not eating. Sam shrugged, playing with his napkin. The dark circles under his eyes were finally beginning to fade, last night had been the first night in months Sam hadn't woken up screaming. Dean questioned if the tears were any better.

"Not exactly, Dean. As far as I can figure, they were all adopted. But from different places. Four of them, actually. One in Minnesota, just out of town, one in Wyoming, one in Illinois..."

Sam trailed off, his brilliant eyes lit with something not quite discernable to Dean. Dean nodded impatiently, swallowing before he spoke,

"Okay, Minnesota, Wyoming, Illinois...what's the last one?"

Sam looked down into his coffee.

"You're not going to like it. The last boy to disappear...he was adopted from Kansas."

Their home state. Every unspoken emotion that rushed to the surface passed between them with a single glance.

"So we're going home..."

Dean swallowed. The eggs churned in his stomach, and god, how he wished he'd brought his flask.

Ten hours later, Dean lay half asleep in the passenger seat. Sam was driving his baby. Dean watched his brother carefully—his guilt had allowed Sam to sit in the driver's seat tonight. The moon had come out some time ago, casting half shadows in the trees that lined the road. Dean had been fighting a losing battle with sleep for hours now. Every time he closed his eyes, the same images crawled across his mind—the fire, his mother, pinned to the ceiling, burning alive as she screamed for his father. Sam glanced surreptitiously at him, his concern evident. Dean turned away, unable to take the pain in his gaze.

"Dean..."

Sam's voice was soft, careful. Dean ignored him. The wooden sign stating "Welcome to Kansas!" slipped by.


	2. Chapter 2: The Lies our Daddy Told Us

Sam's hands shook as he reached for the cold iron of the door handle. _Lawrence Adoption Agency_ hung over them in faded gold letters, the rain whipping against it. Sam felt in his pocket for his FBI badge. Even after all this time, the lying still put his nerves on edge. Dean rolled his eyes, pushing Sam out of the way and opening the door. A gust of heat blew out as they entered.

"Good morning, and welcome to Lawrence, boys. What can I do for you?"  
The woman behind the counter smiled, her piercing blue eyes lingering on Sam. Sam blushed as her eyes traced across his chest, the white dress shirt see-through and clinging from the rain. Dean smirked, flashing his badge.

"We need access to some old adoption records."

The woman looked their badges over carefully.

"I'm sorry, boys. I can't give you those unless you have a search warrant."

Dean nodded,

"Of course. And-"

"We do, ma'am."  
Sam smiled at her, flashing his dimples and stormy green eyes as he tugged at the wet dress shirt. The top button came undone. The woman behind the counter inhaled sharply. Dean snickered.

"I'm sorry, but I need to see paper proof of that."

Sam leaned over the divide in the counter, muscles flexing as he reached for the phone.

"Here. I'll call our supervisor."  
He murmured softly, brushing his hand across the woman's as he dialled Bobby's number. The shell shocked look in her eyes was enough to tell Dean they would definitely be getting access to the records—paper or no paper warrant.

"This is it,"

The woman muttered.

"Sorry we don't have a better system..."

Sam and Dean looked warily around the room filled with dusty boxes. Some had letters on them, some years, and some looked as if they belonged in the early fifties.

"Damn it."  
Dean muttered. Sam sighed.

"Thank you, ma'am."

He fixed her with another green eyed stare, a half smile playing on his lips as she shivered.

"Of course, boys. If you need...anything..."

She murmured suggestively, reaching out one hand, to drag her fingers down Sam's arm as she walked away. As soon as she was out the door, Dean busted out laughing.

"Oh my god, dude...did you just flirt us in here? I didn't know you had that in you."

Sam winked at Dean, surveying the mess in front of them.

"Where do we start?"

He muttered. Dean shrugged.

"You go left?"  
Sam nodded.

"We're looking for the records of that Damien kid. The last one to be abducted. Damien Wilson."

Three hours later, they were no closer to finding the Wilson file. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting shadows across the cement walls. Dean looked at Sam, covered in dust and grime, concentration written on his face. He wondered vaguely when his little brother had grown up. Sam turned and caught his eye.

"This is ridiculous. We are never going to find this kid's file."

He yanked a box labelled "W" down off the shelf. The first file in it had 1968 on it, the last 1990.

"These aren't even organized by date."

"Shit!"

Dean cursed as his hand slipped, blood trickling from the newly formed paper cut. Sam snickered. Dean glared at him.

"Listen, pretty..."

Sam laughed,

"Jealous?"  
Dean smirked.

"Yeah, sure. Bitch."

"Jerk."

Sam rolled his eyes, flipping through the files.

"So, I'm thinking demigod. You know, ritual sacrifice and all?"  
Dean nodded.

"Yeah. Maybe we should check out that forest along the border of town tonight? This isn't getting us anywhere."

Sam nodded, getting up to leave. As he did so, the box slipped, spilling files across the dingy floor.

Sam began stuffing the mess back into the box, when he froze suddenly. The colour drained from his cheeks as he flipped the file open.

"D-Dean..."  
His voice was barely a whisper.

"I think you better have a look at this."

"You found the file?"

Dean asked, snatching the file out of Sam's hands. Sam shook his head, the look in his eyes impossible to read.

_January 24__th__, 1979_

_Adoptive Parents: John Winchester, Mary Winchester_

_Child: Dean Winchester (legal name given at birth)_

_Biological Parents: Samantha Rhodes, Father unknown_

_Details:_

_Samantha Rhodes, 19, gave birth to son Dean at 7:40 this evening. He was born in St. Lucas hospital, Lawrence, Kansas. Pre-natal care was done by Dr. Alexander White. There were no complications with the pregnancy. _

The file slipped from Dean's hands, copies of his birth certificate and other records spilling across the concrete as his eyes glassed over. Sam looked up at him, bewildered.

"Sammy..."

Sam caught Dean just before he fell, pulling him into his body as if his touch could heal Dean. Dean took a deep breath, refusing to let the tears fall.

"So. We're not brothers. Fuck, we're not even related!"

Dean muttered. Everything he believed in was suddenly turned upside down. Sam pulled Dean closer, pressing his flushed cheek against Dean's neck. He pressed his hands insistently into Dean's suddenly cold palms.

"Dean. Of course we're still brothers. It doesn't matter."

Dean's eyes reflected shattered promises.

"Of course it fucking matters. Dad lied. To me, to you..."

Dean pushed Sam's hands away. The family ties, the blood line he treasured, valued above his own life lay bleeding on the floor. Sam's hands shook as he watched Dean stalk out of the concrete room. Sam ran one hand through his hair, exhaling slowly as he watched Dean walk away. His heart constricted as he thought of the shadows that night would bring.

Vaguely, Sam wondered if he would face the dark alone tonight. The thought of that was enough to send him reeling. He hadn't spent the night alone since...since he had woken up on the dirty mattress in the abandoned cabin where Dean had saved his life. Sam gathered the paperwork from the floor, following slowly after Dean. The cold chill of being alone wove through his veins.

The bar was packed. Sam winced as a stiletto heel slammed down on his foot—who wore stilettos to a bar anyways? The smell of stale liquor permeated the air. Whatever sports game was on the multiple flat screen tvs, casting everyone in dancing blue light. Almost ghostly, Sam realized.

"Whiskey. Straight up."

The bartender nodded curtly, not bothering a to give a second glance to Sam. Sam bit his lip, knowing he looked like shit. Knowing his eyes held the emptiness he felt inside open for the world to see. His hair felt dingy, his skin bruised. Sam took a long pull of the whiskey, knowing that the bar could never provide the solace he was looking for.

The brunette smiled at him from across the room, and Sam was sold.

"Sam."

He extended one hand towards her.

"Alex."

She bit her lip suggestively, running her palm over his extended arm. Her hair fell in glossy curls around her shoulders. She was beautiful, all full lips and wide eyes. Sam smiled half heartedly. Dean wasn't answering his cell phone. Sam tried not to panic. The case now seemed far away, but with Dean, you never knew.

"Hey. What'sa matter, honey?"

Alex gazed at him over her drink. All Sam could think of was how no one ever called him pet names, except for Dean.

"Family stuff. You know."  
Alex laughed.

"You betcha. My daddy used to beat the shit outta me."

Sam thought of his own father. Thought of how nothing he had ever done was good enough for John. Thought of Dean, the way he worshipped John. No wonder John had never told him. He probably hated the fact that the only good son he had was the one who wasn't even his. Sam's jaw clenched.

Alex leaned across the table, her eyes wide.

"Just don't think about it, darling."

Sam smiled halfheartedly. He tried to concentrate on Alex, her pale skin offset by bloody lipstick. He'd had more than enough to drink. Shots that burned his throat as they slid past his lips. Sam could feel the edge in his veins fading as the alcohol entered his blood. Alex traced patterns on his arm, and Sam wanted nothing more than to take her home. Or at least back to the motel. He doubted Dean would be there anyways, the look in his eyes more shattered than Sam had ever seen him. He swallowed hard.

"You wanna get outta here?"

Slurred words. Sam was hardly surprised. Taking Alex by the hand, he led her out the door, across the busy street and into the motel room. Dean wasn't there. Sam set his cellphone on the bedside table, turned the ringer up as loud as it would go. Then he pressed Alex into the mattress, caught up in a fog of drunken semi-lust, and tried to forget.


	3. Chapter 3: Drunken Nights and Pretending

Hey kids, just so you know, reviews are like candy...I love them very much, and appreciate them very much. Hope you're enjoying the story thus far! (: 

* * *

Dean's back hit the wall hard as the world swirled around him. The alley was dark, filled with garbage and puddles, the walls swirled with multi-coloured graffiti. He was unsure of where he was, let alone how to get back to the hotel. Back to Sam. Back to his baby brother...Dean swallowed hard, his hands shaking. The street was cold, almost frozen as he sank down on to it.

"Hey buddy, you okay?"

The strangers voice sounded far away, deep and velvet smooth. Dean groaned, felt hands sliding under his arms, dragging him up off the street.

"Where ya stayin' at?"

Dean shook his head.

"Dunno...there's ducks though..."

Ducks in a pond outside, his rational brain thought. Dean ignored it, stumbling forward on shaky legs.

"You mean Hunter's Point?"

Did he? Maybe. The endless line of shitty motels with shitty names had a tendency to blend together when the world spun this way.

The hands guided him down the street, pushed him into a cab.

"Hunter's Point. The motel."

Dean slumped over in the seat as waves of dizziness washed over him. His cell phone vibrated with three missed calls and a voicemail in his back pocket. Sam, probably. Dean felt his heart constrict. All his life, family had come first. But they weren't his family...Dean felt the alcohol rise in the back of his throat.

* * *

Sam bit the pulse point on Alex's neck hard, her gasp of pain sending shocks of pleasure down his spine. She writhed against him, tugging at the button on his jeans, and suddenly all he could think of was Jess, her fingernails digging into his back, sometimes leaving long red lines that lasted for days. Alex's fingers pressed gently against his skin, and Sam suddenly couldn't. His hands shook as he gently disentangled himself from Alex.

"Whatsa matter, baby?"  
She murmered, sitting up blearily, her eyes glassy with lust. Sam shrugged.

"I'm sorry..."

His voice broke.

"I just...can't."

All he wanted was Dean. Dean, who knew everything about him, and who he never would have needed to explain what was wrong to. Dean, whose eyes held every secret Sam has ever told him. All Sam wanted was his brother. Sam snatched his cell phone off the bedside table, his hands shaking as he dialled his brother. The phone rang and rang, but Dean never picked up.

By the time Sam hung up the phone, Alex was pulling on her shirt.

"Thanks for nothing, asshole."

Muttered words under her breath as she glared at Sam.

"I'm sorry."

And he was. More than anything, he had wanted to be distracted. Wanted to stop thinking about his big brother, lost somewhere in the night. Alex pulled on her heels, and stormed out the door, slamming it hard behind her. Sam buried his head in his hands, wishing like hell that Dean would come home.

...

Sam was jerked violently from his troubled half-sleep by voices outside, and fists pounding on the door. He stumbled blearily awake, his head swirling with the beginning of a hangover already. He opened the door to flashing lights, two cops supporting Dean by his underarms.

"This belong to you?"

The cop leaned against the doorway, his eyes glaring.

"Uh, yes sir. That's my brother."

Dean shook his head.

"I'm not his brother. Fuuuuck this."

His words were slurred together and Sam flinched. Dean began to struggle out of the cops grasp. One of the cops shot Sam a pointed look.

"Ya know what your "brother" did tonight?"

Sam shook his head, flinching at the cop's use of air quotes.

"Well then. Let me tell you. He punched some cabbie in the face when he wouldn't drive him off into the damn woods on the edge of town. What the hell is wrong with him?"

Sam sighed.

"He's just...having a hard time, officer. Sir. I'll take care of him. Put him in counselling."

Sam looked the officer in the eye. Please, come on...

"Fine. But if we catch up to him again, I will personally make sure he serves time, son."

The officer leaned in close to Sam.

"Y-yes sir."

The two officers thrust Dean towards Sam, who barely caught him as he collapsed in a whiskey flavoured pile of leather and jeans. His skin was freezing.

...

"What the hell were you thinking, Dean?"

Dean looked up at Sam with glassy eyes.

"I was thinkin...'bout that thiiiiing, Sammy..."

Sam shook his head, ignoring the pounding against his skull.

"Smart Dean. Real smart. Let's get you to bed."

Dean shook his head.

"You're not the bossa me, Sammy."

Sam sighed, pushing Dean towards the bed.

"You're right. But since I'm the only one here who can walk, I get to be in charge."

Dean pushed weakly at Sam with clumsy fingers.

"Get offa me."

Sam rolled his eyes, feeling his stomach churn. He pushed Dean into bed, hardly surprised when Dean's eyes fluttered closed almost immediately, his breathing evening out as he slipped away. Sam gently untied his boots, pulling them off and tossing them onto the floor.

"Jesus, Dean..."

He shook his head, pulling the sheet over Dean before slipping into bed himself.

* * *

"Rise 'n' shine, Sammy."

Dean shook Sam's shoulder, waking him from restless sleep. Had he had nightmares last night? Dean didn't know and immediately felt guilt wash over him. Sam blinked up at him, his eyes glassy and confused. Almost immediately, Sam bolted from the bed and into the bathroom. Dean felt his heart contract, what had Sammy gotten up to last night, anyways? He knocked gently on the door.

"Sammy, you alright?"

"Yeah, just peachy, Dean. Thanks a million."

Dean almost snickered at the sarcasm, but the guilt was still swimming through his veins. He always took care of Sam when they went out.

"You need anything? I'm getting breakfast."

"No. How are you not hungover, Dean? You couldn't even walk last night!"

Dean paused, considering this.

"Probably 'cuz I'm smart enough not to get drunk of bitch pops, Sammy."

Sam groaned, and Dean snickered. He could do this. He could pretend they had never found that record. He could pretend he was over it. He could feel himself pushing the feelings down, burying them under the layers of numbness. It was probably for the best, no doubt Sam would want to talk about this, and there was no way Dean would ever admit that the pain he was feeling had driven him to drink himself into a stupor just so he wouldn't have to feel anymore. Besides, they had work to do. Work that didn't involve feeling anything at all.

Dean watched Sam carefully across the table as he stuffed half a cream filled doughnut into his mouth. Sam stared at him, his eyes glassy and shadowed with blue. He looked exhausted. And sick. Dean tossed a bottle of aspirin at him, licking his fingers.

"Here. Quit being such a baby."

Sam glared at Dean. Dean shrugged,

"Don't look at me that way. We've got work to do. That demigod—if it is a demigod—struck eight kids from the Maryland adoption agency, and seven from the Minnesota one. It's gonna strike again here, and probably soon."

Sam's eyes darkened.

"We have work to do? Are you crazy? Don't you think we should talk about what happened yesterday?"

Dean shrugged, the walls Sam had seen so many times before sliding into his eyes.

"Nah. Hate to break it to ya, Sammy, but I'm over it."

"Over it? Dean, everything we've ever known was built on this!"

"Whatever. Look, I'm going after this thing. You're either coming, or you're not, but I am not sitting here, sharing and caring with you while children are killed. We're better than that, Sammy."

Sam folded his arms over his chest, clearly not prepared to let this go without a fight.

"Look, Dean, this is a weakness for us. What are you going to do when a demon throws this in your face?"

Dean's eyes darkened, clouding with anger.

"We'll make sure no fucking demons find out, Sam. And when this hunt is over...then we'll talk."

Sam shook his head, knowing Dean would do everything in his power to get out of talking about anything.

"Fine. But Dean, we WILL talk about this."

"Whatever."

Dean got up from the table, sliding his favourite gun into the waistband of his jeans. Sam followed him out of the hotel room, popping back four of the coated aspirin tablets with a swig of black coffee. His eyes followed Dean's form, and Sam was surprised by the wave of emotions that washed over him. Not his brother anymore... Shaking his head, he concentrated his attention of the wet pavement.


End file.
